


It Must be Love

by Angelica_writes



Series: Imagines [32]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Canon Era, Episode: s01e10 Points, F/M, WWII, Whiskey - Freeform, World War Two, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelica_writes/pseuds/Angelica_writes
Summary: You and Nix fall out over his drinking.
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Reader, Lewis Nixon/You
Series: Imagines [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999741
Kudos: 8





	It Must be Love

“God, even Kathy didn’t nag at me this much!” Nixon yelled, spit flying across the room, some landing on your cheek, although you were too angry and too hurt to care. 

“Why don’t you go back to her then?” You retaliated, almost aflame with wrath. 

“Well, maybe I damn well will!” Nixon grabbed his jacket from where it had been carelessly tossed on the floor and headed for the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see your face wild with fury, although what he didn’t notice were the tears in your eyes. “Anything is better than this,” this time he didn’t shout, but the quiet resentment in his voice made you wish he was shouting again - this was so much worse. You couldn’t prevent the tears that began to fall, turning your back on Nixon out of embarrassment. Realising he’d made you cry and instantly regretting his words, Nixon’s shoulders slumped. The two of you stood there in silence for a few tense moments, before you heard his retreating footsteps. 

As you sat in the darkened room, tears streaming, Nixon went in search of Dick. He didn’t have to look for long, finding his friend in his office. Sighing exaggeratedly, he threw himself onto a chair and reached for his hip flask, downing the contents in one. Dick merely raised an eyebrow. Even Nixon was usually more sparing with the alcohol in his hip flask, so Dick instantly reached the conclusion that something had happened. He continued typing his report as the two sat there in complete silence, Dick waiting for his friend to be ready to open up. 

“I made her cry. How could I do that?” Nixon eventually spoke, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the floor. Dick didn’t need to ask who Nixon was talking about, the arguments between you and Nixon about his drinking had happened regularly even before he split up from Kathy and you finally got together. “I told her… I said some horrible things,” Nixon paused, finally tearing his eyes away from the ground and moving them to Dick, who was startled to see tears forming in his friend’s eyes. They’d been through a lot together, and he’d never once seen Nixon cry, not even when Kathy left him. 

“Lew, it’s going to be okay, you know you always make things right with Y/N in the end. Do you want me to talk to her?” Dick leaned forward to put his hand over his friend’s, his warmth slightly calming the shaking in Nix’s hand. 

“But I don’t know  _ how  _ to make it right,” Nixon stood up and left abruptly; Dick correctly guessed that he was going to drown his sorrows. 

/// 

“May I come in?” you heard behind you at the same time as a soft knock sounded on the door. Hastily wiping your tears, you managed to croak out a feeble agreement. 

The bed dipped next to you as Dick sat down, tenderly pulling you into his embrace. 

“You don’t need to hide your tears from me,” he murmured as you desperately tried to appear calm. 

“I guess Nix told you, then,” you laughed bitterly. 

“He’s really sorry, you know,” Dick’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was scared for your reaction. Which he was. 

“He’s always sorry,” you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, pulling out of Dick’s arms. “I love him, I really do, but I can’t take any more of this. It’s too much.” Dick just nodded, unsure of what to say. Your arguments with Nixon had always been easy to patch up with a little comfort and a little persuading, but it seemed that this time it was different. For once, Dick didn’t know how to solve it. 

“Hey!” The two of you were startled by a loud voice from the doorway. Nixon was so wasted that even the monosyllabic word was slurred, and he swayed as he walked towards you. You and Dick realised that he must’ve drunk a hell of a lot in the last half an hour to be this obviously drunk, given that his body was so used to the liquor he consumed in large quantities. 

“I’ll wait outside,” Dick retreated. 

“You know,” Nixon hiccuped as he tripped and fell face first onto the bed next to you. “I really am sorry,” he continued after recovering. “I love you.” 

“You’re such a mess, look at you,” your tone was harsher than you intended, and guilt surged in you upon seeing Nixon’s head fall. “I love you too,” you added, not wanting to make the rift between you any wider. His drinking was bad enough when the two of you were on good terms, but whenever you argued he’d go on a massive bender. You’d never seen him quite this drunk, though. 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you struggled to lift him upright as you received no co-operation whatsoever, Nixon was determined not to be moved. 

“Nooooo,” he whined, trying to collapse back onto the bed. 

“Yes, please just let me take you to bed,” you yanked his arm, trying anything to get him to come with you. 

“Honey, I don’t think I’m in any fit state for that sort of thing right now,” Nixon giggled like a child at his own joke, which only made him even harder to budge. 

“You’re such a baby,” you grumbled as you eventually managed to get him onto his feet. 

“If I co-operate, will you kiss me?” He gave you his widest puppy dog eyes, always so effective at wrapping you around his little finger. This time was no exception. 

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, but were relieved that he was finally allowing you to take him to his bedroom. Once there, he flopped on the bed and you kept your promise, pressing a soft peck to his lips, tasting the repulsive whiskey on them. 

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyelids already dropping, an effect of the alcohol. 

“I know,” you replied, hearing Nixon’s snores before you’d taken two steps. You returned to your room, naively hoping that sleep would come quickly. 

/// 

You’d finally nodded off as the birds began chirping in the trees, but you were rudely awoken by a loud smash just a few hours later. Groaning, you sat up, another crash sounding in the street. You made your way to the window, and you were met with the sight of smashed glass and dark liquid on the cobbles below. Thinking it was just some of your comrades doing something stupid, you decided to retreat back to your bed, when Dick appeared in your doorway. 

“Come and see this,” he motioned for you to follow him, and you reluctantly gave up on any ideas you had of getting more sleep. You followed him to Nixon’s room, where he stood on the balcony, laughing like a madman. He lifted a bottle from the rickety little table, its paint peeling, and threw it down, earning back a few choice words from a fellow captain walking below. 

“What are you doing?” You questioned, making your way onto the balcony. Before Nixon could answer you, a further stream of curse words sounded from below, this time from an irate MP, whose jeep had just run over some of the broken glass and now had a flat tire. Nixon didn’t even deign to respond, he just laughed and threw another bottle. “Have you gone insane?” 

“Nope! I feel free, Y/N. Freer than the birds in the trees,” he turned to you and squashed your cheeks in his hand. 

“Now I know you  _ have  _ gone insane,” you muttered. “Why are you laughing like a crazy person and smashing all these bottles?” 

“Because I’m giving up,” you quirked an eyebrow at his words, unsure of what Nixon was referring. “I’m giving up drinking, well mostly anyway. I’m sure the odd snifter now and again won’t hurt,” Nixon grinned, now aiming the next bottle at the wall opposite, although retreating from his stance as a window opened and an old lady shook her fist at him. 

“You’re giving up drinking for  _ me _ ?” The disbelief was evident in your voice; you’d started to give up all hope that he’d at least limit his intake of alcohol. 

“It must be love,” he smirked, nudging your shoulder with his. 

“Oh, I see, you’re an old sentimentalist at heart,” you teased as Nixon handed you a bottle, and you took immense satisfaction in throwing it off the balcony and hearing crash on the cobbles below. 


End file.
